


Terra Firma by Madison

by sgamadison



Series: Terra Firma [2]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-20
Updated: 2010-09-20
Packaged: 2017-10-12 01:37:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/119353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sgamadison/pseuds/sgamadison
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A rocky off-world mission has Rodney re-evaluating his feelings for the Major.  An accident on return to Atlantis causes Rodney to forget everything about the Stargate program.  Only Rodney can decide if it will be worth the risk to regain his memories or not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Terra Firma by Madison

* * *

>   
> It should have felt good returning to Atlantis safely after that last disastrous mission. Hell, it should have felt better than good; it should have been stupendous, joyous, amazing and daresay, miraculous as well? Not only had the team survived a potentially deadly natural disaster, but Major John Sheppard had turned out _not_ to be paralyzed after that plummet into an underground cavern _and_ they had made contact, albeit limited, with an advanced and intelligent life form. He should have been deliriously happy, but instead, Rodney McKay felt cold and miserable, like a half-drowned puppy left out in the rain. In the intervening hours during their entrapment and isolation from rest of the team, things between he and the Major had...changed. He tried not to think about John placing a feather-light kiss on his forehead down in the seclusion of the cave. Instead, he tried to attribute his confused feelings to the head injury, the nausea, the pain in his neck and shoulders and the hours without food.
> 
>   
>  Predictably, Dr. Carson Beckett practically had kittens when he found out what had happened to their half of the team. Teyla and Lt. Ford had come through the Gate before them and had been responsible for sending the rescue party in search of the Major and the astrophysicist. Teyla had twisted an ankle in the scramble to climb up out of the path of the collapsing mountainside while Ford garnered an impressive gash down the length of one arm that had required stitches on return to the infirmary—he seemed pleased at the prospect of developing a nasty-looking scar as a result. McKay and Sheppard both found themselves undergoing the Ancient equivalent of MRI scans—in Rodney's case because of the head trauma, in John's because of the fortunately temporary paralysis.
> 
>   
> Muttering something about "spinal shock" and the limits of the human body, in particular the ribs of a certain person who seemed prone to breaking them, Carson reluctantly released Sheppard from the infirmary on the condition that he go straight to his quarters and stay there. As he shot Rodney a "nyah, nyah, got out first" look, Rodney knew he had no intention of heading for his quarters just yet. He would probably go see both Teyla and Ford first to make sure they were really okay and to assure them that the rest of the team would be fine as well.
> 
>   
> The cleaning and re-bandaging of Rodney's hands where they had been sliced through during the fall had been excruciating. Though he found nothing of concern on the scans, Carson insisted that Rodney stay in the infirmary overnight for observation and IV fluids. This suited Rodney just fine. All he wanted right now was some time to sort though his jumbled emotions without feeling pressed to discuss anything. With the constant presence of low-level lighting and medical staff coming to poke and prod him every few hours, the infirmary was just the place to get the isolation he desired. There was no way anyone could hold a private conversation here.
> 
>   
> So why was he not surprised when he woke for no apparent reason to find Sheppard dozing in a chair with his feet propped up on the rail of his infirmary bed? Though he could not see a clock anywhere from his position, Rodney knew instinctively that it was likely well into the early hours of the morning. Of all the stupid, dumb-ass things to be doing...he watched John sleeping for just a moment, the certainty of the rise and fall of his chest, the way his head was tipped back on the headrest, the beginnings of stubble on the line of his jaw, the arms folded easily as though the position was completely comfortable.
> 
>   
> "Hey." His voice sounded harsh, like it hadn't been used in years. He spoke quietly, so as not to alert the night nurse. "Get your feet off my bed."
> 
>   
> John opened his eyes. Just like that, he was awake. No starting violently, no vague uncertainty about where he was or how he had come to be there. For a split second, Rodney saw the processor at work, the one that assessed the situation at hand, determined it to be friendly or not friendly and decided instantly what to do about it next. Rodney wondered for a brief moment how the processor was assessing _this_ situation because he sure as hell didn't know what was going to come next.
> 
>   
>  "You're sounding better." Sheppard remaining seated as he was, negligently lounging in the chair with a lazy smile. "I guess Carson managed to find a source for a snarkiness transfusion after all."
> 
>   
> He was sort of breath-taking as he sat there. He was every bad boy image rolled up into one: fighter pilot, street fighter, hot-rod driver. In his black t-shirt and military fatigues with hair even more disheveled than usual, he was sporting the beginnings of yesterday's beard and looking at him with that quirky smile through half closed eyes. Rodney suddenly wanted very badly to reach out and touch him again. Bitterly, he reminded himself that the only reason he knew what John's body felt like in the first place was that they had both been injured and cold, trying to conserve body heat. If it seemed towards the end that John could have possibly been feeling something more for him, well that was just impossible. There was certainly no sign of that now. It was just wishful, pathetic thinking on his part, that's all.
> 
>   
> "Go away." Rodney said coldly, irrevocably determining a course of action, one that would preserve his heart in the end. This morning he had been in denial about what he felt for John. This evening he was being brutal with his emotions. No matter how he managed to delude himself into thinking perhaps the Major cared for him, the idea was patently ludicrous. Besides, he spent enough time working for the USAF, and in particular with one Major John Sheppard, to have seen, you don't fall in love with a flyboy and come out unscathed. "I don't want you here." He closed his eyes.
> 
>   
> There was long moment of silence, in which nothing happened. And then Rodney became aware that John had quietly removed his feet from the bed railing. He could tell by the careful way that John stood up that the position in the chair had _not_ been comfortable. Why the hell hadn't he thought about that after all his back had been through yesterday? He sensed that John was standing beside the bed, staring down at him, but he kept his eyes determinedly closed. If Rodney could have done so without it hurting so badly, he would have turned his back on him. Though he made scarcely a sound as he left, Rodney knew that John exited the infirmary because suddenly it got ten degrees colder, like the sun had set or a fire had been snuffed out.
> 
>   
>  What had he done? It didn't bear thinking about. He had said nothing today to commit himself in any way; nothing to indicate to John what his feelings towards him might have been. If he had played dumb and kept his mouth shut just now, then there would have been a possibility of things going back to the way they were, of pretending that moment of tenderness in the cave was just one of those 'thank God we're both still alive' things and he would still have his best friend. But no, oh no, playing dumb just wasn't _in_ his skill set, now was it? No, he had to go and wreck it all by sending John away. He lifted a shaky, bandaged hand to his eyes, wiping away the single line of moisture that was definitely not a tear. He was so tired. It was just exhaustion leaking from his eyes.
> 
>   
>  The next morning, Carson had no choice but to release him from the infirmary. "You look terrible though." His Scottish accent made the word sound like 'tirribel'. "Like you didn't get any sleep."
> 
>   
> "Who could sleep in this miserable place with people moving in and out all night like it was a Greyhound bus depot?" Rodney snarled, snatching up his clothing from the day before and dreading putting the dirty outfit back on.
> 
>   
> "Don't bother with those mucky things." Carson handed him a small bundle. "Here. Someone brought you some nice clean clothes this morning."
> 
>   
> "Well now _that_ was a complete waste of time. I'll just have to wash them once I get back to my quarters and shower anyway." Rodney flipped quickly through the discreetly folded little stack. Yep. Everything he needed. He did not want to think about who the thoughtful provider might be.
> 
>   
>  Carson was beginning to let his irritation show. "I'm guessing any little nicety this morning would be a complete waste of time for you with the mood you're in."
> 
>   
> "What's that supposed to mean?" Despite still being dressed as he was in a medical gown, he was in no mood to be sniped at by anyone, even Carson, who was as mild as they come.
> 
>   
> "It means you are to leave my infirmary and not darken my doors again until your next bandage change on those hands. _Do_ try to stay out of trouble, Rodney."
> 
>   
>  The next three days were fairly uncomfortable for the scientific community in Atlantis, at least those that had projects that brought them into any contact whatsoever with Rodney McKay. There were a record-number of tearful breakdowns on the part of hapless associates who suddenly found their last six weeks of work being thrown out for substandard testing methods or faulty original premises. One technician confided to Dr. Weir that if she could turn in her resignation she would but since she couldn't, she begged to be temporarily re-assigned—even waste management was a preferable option to her. When Elizabeth asked Sheppard to talk to Rodney and find out what was going on, he had merely narrowed his eyes and said, "Not my department." Radek had gotten nowhere—his vehement commentary to Elizabeth afterwards was largely in Czech and flung at her with such speed that she didn't understand one word in seven, but the message was quite clear. Even Teyla was defeated.
> 
>   
> "He was more than rude, Elizabeth. He was forcing me to go away with words that were almost unforgivable. Something is troubling him terribly, but he is not ready to admit, even to himself I fear, what it might be."
> 
>   
> Satisfied with Teyla's observation that this really was more of an emotional than physical problem (this was the Pegasus galaxy after all, one couldn't be too careful with sudden changes in behavior), she suggested that Rodney have a talk with Dr. Kate Heighmeyer. McKay adamantly refused to have anything to do with the psychologist and Elizabeth was reluctant to force the issue by making it mandatory. Rodney was after all, one of the more volatile members of the expedition; perhaps he just needed a little time. She would certainly hold that option in reserve however, if things went on like this much longer. She had a vision of herself explaining to Kate that Rodney was being more difficult than usual and being asked, "How can you tell?" Sheppard's team was grounded for the moment anyway while everyone recovered from their various injuries. Surely this thing of Rodney's would work itself out before the next off-world assignment came about.
> 
>   
> It became a moot point however, because on the forth day after their return, Rodney was electrocuted.
> 
>   
> Due to the near depletion of the ZPM, they had been experiencing minor power fluctuations off and on ever since the city had risen from the bottom of the ocean floor. In addition, the science team had recently determined that the parts of the city that had been flooded or damaged by the storm earlier in the year now had some circuitry that was exposed to salt air and water with rapid and terminal corrosion resulting. Many of the areas in question could not reasonably be repaired to protect replacement parts, so subroutines had to be re-written to by-pass affected areas. McKay was now pushing his team to work on these systems day and night, bluntly reminding anyone who complained that they would need everything in place and working when the Wraith attacked. He hoped that by re-routing the damaged systems, he might yet be able to divert enough power to get the shield back up—at least for a temporary, emergency measure. He insisted on seeing much of the damaged circuitry himself, crawling up into walls and behind panels to pull down cables and fret over the corrosion.
> 
>   
> That was what led him to the lower levels that day, with Ford shadowing his every step. "I'm merely pulling a circuit panel and bringing it back to the lab. I hardly need an armed escort for that, Lieutenant." He sniped at the annoyingly stoic soldier.
> 
>   
> Ford remained nonplussed. "I've got my orders, sir."
> 
>   
> In uncharacteristic stillness of posture, McKay furiously demanded to know under whose orders Ford was acting. Ford didn't hesitate. "Dr. Weir's orders, sir. After that whole nanovirus thing, she doesn't want people going about the city alone unnecessarily."
> 
>   
> "A fat lot of good a P-90 would be against a nanovirus." McKay steamed. He didn't doubt Ford was telling the truth; how could Sheppard justify sending Ford out specifically to babysit _him_? Sheppard himself had been conspicuously absent the past few days. McKay had been bracing himself to run into him in the mess hall, one of the many briefing sessions or when Sheppard made one of his unexpected 'drop-ins' to the lab, but it seemed nowadays their paths never crossed. He had never really thought about how much time the two of them just 'hung out' together, even when working on completely different tasks. Now that he considered it, Sheppard was never required to attend any of his science team's briefings, nor did he ever actually have any _good_ reason to drop by the lab. For that matter, it was awfully convenient that they seemed to choose the same, very unusual, times to take their meals. For a moment, he wondered if he had made a serious error in judgment but he firmly put that thought aside. He didn't need any friends. He had done without them before. It was better this way.
> 
>   
>  It seemed like a long trek to the damaged section of the city where McKay needed to access the circuit. Ford tried to engage in a little light conversation but was defeated by the blistering response that he received at his first attempt and fell silent. When they reached the room in question, it was partly open to the elements. The smell of salt water and dead fish was very strong down here, the walls were water-stained and the floor slick with algae and pocked with small puddles. Ford wrinkled his nose at the odor and stayed near the doorway. McKay marched briskly in and after consulting his laptop, balanced precariously on still bandaged hands, made for the wall panel in question. Carson had at least reduced the bandages until they were merely strips across his still raw palms, but McKay regretted the temporary loss of his usual manual dexterity. Frustrated that he could not hold the computer and manage the panel at the same time, he set the unit down while he fished out the crystalline cables from inside the wall, then hefted the unit back up and tried to make the connections he needed.
> 
>   
> "Need a hand, Doc?" Ford asked from the doorway.
> 
>   
> "No, I do not. I am managing just fine on my own, thank you very much." He knew that though the words were polite, there was no mistaking the 'can't-you-see-I'm-busy-leave-me-alone' tone and hoped that Ford would get the hint. He started to say something else, but the laptop slipped sideways in his hands. He lunged for it, sighing with relief when he caught it before it hit the floor. As he straightened, he pivoted to face the panel again, but did not account for the slickness of the floor. He did not have the chance to complete his curse before he was pitched forward into the open panel. Instinctively he fumbled with his free hand to catch himself. He felt a sudden, slamming jolt, as though an elephant had just kicked him in the chest.
> 
>   
> He woke up in what appeared to be some sort of hospital infirmary. It did not look like the infirmary at Nellis Air Force base however. That was odd. He didn't remember how he gotten there or what had happened to him. What had he been working on earlier that day? He had a dull pain in his head and the center of his chest ached terribly, like he had been run over by a truck. He shifted position in his bed and winced, lifting up bandaged hands for inspection. His left sported a large bandage that completely covered the hand out to the fingertips, preventing him from moving them at all. It looked fairly new. His right was also bandaged, but this one appeared a few days older. It only crossed his palm, but was painful when he flexed his hand. _What the hell_?
> 
>   
>  He continued to inspect his arms, not sure what to make of what he was seeing. They were scratched and bruised in various places, but like the injury on his right hand, these wounds also seemed at least several days old; the bruises turning a yellow-greenish tint. His watch was gone, presumably removed by the hospital staff. He stared in disbelief at the faint evidence of a tan line around his wrist. Impossible, he was sure he had gotten the sunblock formula down pat this time! As he rotated his forearms, he noted that they were definitely more muscled than he expected them to be. Something wasn't right here. The whole experience was unsettling. He let his hands fall back to the bed and closed his eyes.
> 
>   
> He opened them at the sound of someone speaking in a Scottish accent across the room. He saw a group of people standing just beyond the entrance to the area where he lay; a medico type commanding their attention. Two women and two men stood listening to the Scottish doctor. The first woman was tall and elegant, with dark hair and fine bone structure. He found himself thinking that when she was 100, she would still retain the beauty of her face in her bones. Beside her stood a shorter woman, lithe and athletic with coppery brown hair. He thought she was possibly the most stunning woman he had ever seen, despite the strap supporting one of her ankles. On the other side of her stood two military types, probably USAF if his guess that he was still at Nellis after all was on target. The doctor was patting the shoulder of the young black man, who had the build of a track and field star. The soldier was smiling back at the doctor in an embarrassed kind of way, ducking his head and practically shuffling his feet. The other man had a sort of James Dean look about him, provided that James Dean had been born with dark Celtic coloring instead of blond. It was this man who noticed that he was awake, and called the doctor's attention to him.
> 
>   
> The entire group came over to his bedside, smiling. "Well now, Rodney." The Scottish man seemed very pleased. "How are you feeling, then?"
> 
>   
> McKay hated when doctors were patronizing to him. Where'd this guy get off calling him "Rodney", like they were best buds? "I feel like crap." His response was suitably tart. "How do you expect me to feel? I'm in the hospital."
> 
>   
> The entire group seemed to share a knowing little smile. Well, maybe not the James Dean guy. He seemed to be watchful more than anything else.
> 
>   
> "What happened to me?" McKay just wanted some answers and then they could all go away.
> 
>   
> "Well now," the doctor began, smiling gently, "it's not surprising that you don't remember the details of the accident. You took a pretty big electrical shock to the system."
> 
>   
> "Yes," the dark haired woman spoke, smiling as well. She was dressed in dark red top with black side panels, which seemed to suit her coloring. He mentally dubbed her Queen Elizabeth. "As a matter of fact, if it weren't for Lt. Ford, you wouldn't have made it."
> 
>   
> He frowned. "Who?"
> 
>   
> The group did another one of those collective glances at each other; only this time no one was smiling.
> 
>   
> "Lt. Ford." The dark haired woman said slowly. She indicated the track and field star, who was staring at him with a look of concern on his face. They all looked a little concerned as a matter of fact.
> 
>   
> "Oh. Right. Well, thanks." McKay made a little half saluting motion with his right hand. "Well done and all that."
> 
>   
> The dark haired woman shared a significant glance with the doctor and then cocked her head and said, "You _do_ recognize him, don't you, Rodney?"
> 
>   
>  "Nope. Should I?"
> 
>   
> The other woman leaned forward. Her outfit was some sort of sleeveless halter top and camo pants affair that, while it showed her arms to her advantage, was definitely not a standard military uniform. She reminded him of a small jungle cat, beautiful but potentially deadly. "Do you remember the rest of us?" Her voice was so gentle and kind that he really would have liked to tell her that he did, just to avoid hurting her in anyway, but he shook off the feeling at once.
> 
>   
> "I'm sorry," he said in a voice that did not sound sorry at all. "I haven't the foggiest idea who any of you are. Now if you could just tell me what exactly happened and when I can expect to be released..."
> 
>   
> "What's the last thing you remember?" The James Dean guy spoke for the first time, sounding simply curious. McKay frowned at him, trying to remember exactly what he had been doing that morning. "Well, I've been working on the datastream compression project...I must have driven onto base this morning to use the main computer."
> 
>   
> No one exchanged glances this time. There was a collective impression of stunned silence.
> 
>   
> "You drove." The dark haired woman repeated. "Onto base."
> 
>   
> "Ye-es." McKay's tone was that of someone offering an explanation to a small, slightly stupid child. "That is the usual way to get to Nellis from my apartment. I personally think ordering a chopper is overkill."
> 
>   
> "Dr. Weir." The doctor's face was grave as he spoke to QE. "A word with you, please."
> 
>   
> He and the dark haired woman moved off, but the rest of the group followed behind them. Sighing, McKay threw back the blanket covering him muttering "ow-ow-ow" to the spasms of pain in his chest and neck as he swung out of bed and eased his feet down onto the floor. His clothes had to be around here somewhere. He winced his way over to a cabinet to check inside and could suddenly hear the discussion concerning him taking place just around the corner.
> 
>   
> "How can someone just _forget_ the last year of his life?" James Dean was saying. His tone implied that the whole idea was completely incredulous, which it certainly was.
> 
>   
>  "It's more than just the last year, Major." The doctor was saying. "He's apparently forgotten everything up until he started working on the Gate project."
> 
>   
> "What could cause something like this to happen, Carson?" The dark haired woman was speaking now.
> 
>   
> "I'm not the expert in this field. I'll be calling Dr. Heightmeyer in on this right away, but it may be a form of post-traumatic stress syndrome."
> 
> "Why would he forget all about us?" James Dean again, sounding a little aggravated.
> 
>   
> "I wouldn't take it personally, Major. Look, let's face it. We've all had enough near-death experiences this past year to rack up a lifetime's worth of nightmares. We're under eminent threat of attack all the time. Up until this past year, Rodney's pretty much had a desk job. By 'forgetting' everything that has to do with the Stargate, he has effectively taken himself back to a safer time in his life."
> 
>   
> Okey-dokey. Time to check himself out of this funny farm and find out what was really going on. He had every intention of getting dressed and making his escape, but the bandages on his hands hampered his ability to move quickly. It suddenly occurred to him that perhaps this whole thing was some elaborate set up to trick him into revealing classified information. The thought made him break out in a cold sweat. The party returned while he was still trying to pull on his pants.
> 
>   
> "Going somewhere, McKay?" James Dean drawled. He had the nerve to look amused.
> 
>   
> Over his protests, the two military guys 'assisted' Rodney back into bed while he shouted, "You can't keep me here! I want a second opinion!" His bandaged hands kept him from thumping the officers the way he really wanted to do.
> 
>   
> He got his second opinion in the form of a Dr. Heightmeyer, who calmly listened to his outraged tirade on being held against his will before proceeding to tell him that he was privy to highly classified information, whether he remembered it or not, and that fact alone meant the military could indeed hold him if they chose to do so. He argued back that he did not have to answer any of her questions for those same reasons since she could not really prove she was who she said she was, for all he knew she was working for some foreign agency. Oh, and by the way, he _knew_ he was no longer at Nellis. It was a shot in the dark, the assumption that he had been moved off base, but when he said it, he felt certain he was right.
> 
>   
>  She pursed her lips for a moment, then coming to some sort of internal decision, relaxed and smiled. "I always knew you would be one of the most challenging people I would ever have to work with. You're no idiot, Dr. McKay."
> 
>   
> "That should be patently obvious. And documented as well."
> 
>   
> "Yes, well, I am going to do you the courtesy of acknowledging that fact and tell you the truth about your memory loss. It's a bit unorthodox, but I think you can handle it." She proceeded to give him a synopsis of the Stargate program and the work that he had done on the project for the last several years. He was incapable of listening without interruption; the story she was telling was so ludicrous that he tried to trap her in the logistics of what she was describing, but she waved him off, saying that was _his_ field not hers and she would get someone else to answer his specific questions later. The important thing was that due to his pre-eminence in the field of Gate technology (was she playing him here just a bit?) he had been selected by Dr. Weir as part of the Pegasus expedition.
> 
>   
>  When he had snorted over the military designation for the project, really these people had _no_ concept of suitable names for projects or missions, she had explained in her gentle fashion that the name was predetermined by the destination. The Pegasus galaxy.
> 
>   
>  He blinked at her for a moment. "You're telling me that I _intentionally_ bought a one-way ticket to another _galaxy_?"
> 
>   
>  "Cheerfully." She responded.
> 
>   
> "That's INSANE!" He began to hyperventilate and the Scottish doctor had to administer some valium to calm him down.
> 
>   
> After that, he refused to have anything further to do with Dr. Heightmeyer. He spent another excruciatingly boring day in the infirmary, undergoing more tests, which all came back normal. He stopped thinking about escape after witnessing the bandage change on his hands. His left hand was angry and swollen, obviously burned but also lacerated across the palm. The right hand had a palm laceration as well, but the doctor (whom he dubbed McDuff) determined that it was now healing well enough to leave unwrapped. The sight of a nearly week old injury that he did not remember incurring made him re-think the whole 'being held hostage by evil forces' thing. This seemed way too elaborate for that. If he was a hostage, why not simply torture him? Not that he was volunteering, mind you; just that it would be simpler.
> 
>   
> McDuff was cleaning up the remains of the bandage material and instructing him on the treatment of his injuries, but he wasn't listening. He was staring at his right hand, slowly opening and closing the palm, when he realized he was being watched by the James Dean guy. He was standing just inside the room, holding a neat little bundle in one hand. They made eye contact for a moment, and then it flashed to McKay, not fast cars but fast _planes_. Oh yeah, this was a USAF flyboy by all means.
> 
>   
>  "He good to go?" The question was aimed at the doctor, who looked unhappy but resigned.
> 
>   
> "I'm not so sure this is a good idea, Major."
> 
>   
> "Think of it as Elizabeth's tough-love program for Rodney McKay." Flyboy quipped. He acknowledged McKay for the first time. "Get dressed. Dr. Weir wants to see you in the gate room as soon as possible." He tossed the bundle, which proved to be clothing, onto the foot of the bed.
> 
>   
> Oooh! Who did this flyboy think he was, ordering him around like that? McKay was tempted to tell him to take his cocky, authoritative, military attitude and shove it up the exhaust system of the nearest F-14 but then thought better of it as he realized he was being offered a chance to leave the infirmary. "Fine." He snapped. He paused for a moment. "Who's Elizabeth?"
> 
>   
> McDuff just cradled his forehead in one hand and shook his head slowly.
> 
>   
> "Dr. Elizabeth Weir. She was here the other day—tall, dark haired woman, remember?" The pilot sounded slightly sarcastic. Well, no one could beat McKay for sarcasm on even a bad day. How odd though, that he had dubbed this woman Elizabeth already.
> 
>   
> "Ah. Queen Elizabeth." He said aloud. He got gingerly up out of the bed and reached for the clothing. Something clicked inside of him; something about a bundle of clothing seemed familiar somehow. He frowned and then put the feeling aside.
> 
>   
> "Be _nice_ , McKay." Flyboy drawled. "She's the boss."
> 
>   
> He was incensed. "'Be nice, McKay'?" He whipped around. "Since when am I not nice?" Even as he said it, he knew he was setting himself up for derision and the other two began laughing.
> 
>   
> "There are a lot of adjectives I could use to describe you, McKay. 'Nice' doesn't leap to mind. Caustic, arrogant..." Major Flyboy was openly smirking now.
> 
>   
> "Impatient, short-tempered..." McDuff seemed to be ticking off a list on his fingers.
> 
>   
> "You left out 'brilliant'," McKay growled.
> 
>   
> "Only because we knew you would remind us." The pilot shot back, never missing a beat.
> 
>   
> "You know what I mean." McKay said sulkily and somewhat inadequately. He wasn't sure what he meant himself. The conversation was starting to strike him as creepy. It was like they knew him better than he knew himself, which was simply ridiculous. He picked up the clothing and noted that the two men still watching him. "Well?"
> 
>   
> "Are you sure you can manage with that hand, Rodney?" The doctor seemed mildly worried.
> 
>   
> "I've been dressing myself for nearly 30 years now, I _think_ I can manage on my own." He snatched up the blue shirt and held it somewhat defensively in front of him, glaring at the two men.
> 
>   
>  Flyboy arched an eyebrow at McDuff, who appeared to be doing remedial math, counting backwards on his fingers before shrugging. They tactfully withdrew. He hurriedly dressed in a sort uniform of a blue knit top with a zippered collar and black pants.
> 
>   
> Major Fighter Pilot was still waiting for him in the corridor when McDuff directed him from the room. He waited just long enough to make sure McKay was following him before moving off down the hallway. McKay got the distinct impression that Our Hero was moderating his pace to accommodate him and though he was tempted to say something snide about that fact, in truth he _was_ still a bit stiff and sore.
> 
>   
>  He was preoccupied with planning his next opening volley towards the Major when he suddenly became aware of his surroundings. Unconsciously, his pace slowed as he gawped at the design of the place. Long curving hallways went in several directions; graceful buttresses supported the ceilings. They turned and headed down another long hallway that appeared to be following the outer wall of the building. For a split second he saw himself, soaking wet and standing in the same hallway, but in the dark, with flashes of lightening all around. He pulled in his breath sharply.
> 
>   
> Predictably, the Major stopped and faced him. "Problem?" His tone was mild. McKay had the feeling it was deliberately mild on purpose but chose not to pursue that thought for the moment. Instead he took a step around the Major and made a beeline for a light-filled opening just ahead. Reaching it, he realized it was a glass door facing out onto a balcony. Looking for some means of opening it, the door unexpectedly opened for him and he stepped out onto the sun-drenched deck.
> 
>   
> The sea stretched away in all directions as far as the eye could see. He moved slowly over to the railing, conscious of the tang of salt air. _Well, Toto. We're certainly not in Kansas anymore_. He looked down and saw the most incredible city below him, graceful spires and delicate arches reaching up towards the sky. "There's no land." He practically whispered.
> 
>   
>  He spoke more to himself but the pilot answered. "The planet is 90% water, but there is a mainland, you just can't see it from here. It's only a hop, skip and a puddle jumper away though."
> 
>   
> McKay turned around. "You know I'm not buying any of this 'alien planet' crap." He was about to say more, when the pilot raised a hand and said, "Give it a rest, Rodney. Elizabeth is waiting for us."
> 
>   
> "That's _Dr. McKay_ to you," McKay snarled at him. "I don't know you and we are _not_ friends."
> 
> The pilot's expression flickered for a second as though he had been struck in the face, and then a shield appeared to drop down. The eyes that looked back at him were shuttered. "Very well." The voice had a cool edge to it that somehow made McKay think he had made a terrible, terrible mistake but for the life of him, he couldn't figure out what that might have been. The pilot indicated the door with a brisk snap of his hand. "After you, _Dr. McKay_."
> 
>   
>  The rest of the walk seemed to take forever. McKay wished now he could take back the words he had spoken on the balcony, they seemed pointless and unnecessarily rude, even for him. He could not even pinpoint what had compelled him to say them. Still, what was done was done. He tried to stop thinking about it but that wasn't entirely successful until they entered a room buzzing with people going in all directions. It was a command center of sorts, with various people sitting at stations and monitoring God knows what. He thought initially that the room only consisted of that area, until he realized that it was just an upper level that overlooked a cavernous room below. He moved to the balcony railing and looked down to where a large decorated metal ring stood in an area of prominence in the open expanse.
> 
>   
> "There you are." Elizabeth Weir was walking towards them with a smile on her face.
> 
>   
> " _Dr. McKay_ , as you requested." The pilot responded with unwarranted emphasis.
> 
>   
> She shot the Major a funny look. Sheena of the Jungle and Track Star were right on her heels, looking hopefully expectant somehow. Elizabeth came to stand in front of him. "I was afraid you would miss it."
> 
>   
> "Miss what?" McKay was openly suspicious.
> 
>   
> "We are expecting a team to return from off-world. I thought you might want to be here when the Gate opens." Even as she spoke, there began the loud rumblings of machinery at work. There was a sudden flicker of aqua light and then a sheet of wavering energy appeared within the huge metal ring, suddenly exploding outward briefly, before settling back within the confines of the ring, where it shimmered like sunlight on water.
> 
>   
> "OH-MY-GOD." McKay threw himself at the rail, clumsily grasping it with his bandaged hands and leaning over as far as he could. "Did you SEE that?" He yelled. He instinctively turned to the person next to him. It was the pilot. "Are my eyes deceiving me or did you just create a stable wormhole? How long can you maintain it? Where does it exit? How much energy does it take to maintain? Omigod, is that cool or _what_?"
> 
>   
>  The pilot appeared to be trying not to grin. "If you think that's cool, wait 'til you go though it."
> 
>   
> "Through it?" Even as he turned back to stare at the 'Gate', several forms that turned out to be human suddenly appeared walking though the aperture. He leaned hard into the rail and pushed himself off, spinning around to face the rest of the group. "Show me, show me." He brushed past the pilot and charged up to the command center. A small man with a halo of frizzy hair, a slightly frantic expression and glasses perched halfway down his nose looked startled as McKay practically climbed into his lap, peppering him with questions.
> 
>   
> "Rodney." Elizabeth was openly amused. "I anticipated your desire to catch up on the Gate technology and I had Dr. Zelenka here download the pertinent information into your laptop." She indicated the frazzled looking man, who gave a two-fingered little wave to Rodney from about two inches away from his nose. "I think you'll find everything you need to get started. It might take you a few weeks to catch up...all of Lieutenant Colonel Samantha Carter's papers are included, and your own for that matter."
> 
>   
> McKay was still processing the words 'Lt. Col. Samantha Carter' because last time he checked, she was just a Captain, when he came slowly away from the console and carefully reached for the laptop that Elizabeth was handing him. He took the unit reverently. It was an incredibly sleek piece of equipment—he'd never seen anything like it. It was like the Ferrari of computers. Somehow, that fact alone seemed more significant than any of the wonders he had just witnessed.
> 
>   
> "Look." Elizabeth was saying. "You just got out of the infirmary. I know you must be tired. Why don't you go back to your quarters and do a little reading. I'm sure if you have questions later, Radek," she indicated the frazzled looking scientist again, "will be happy to answer them."
> 
>   
> He found that he was clutching the laptop to his chest like he had just found Blackbeard's treasure and he had no intention of sharing it with anyone else. The thought of sitting down with a full evening of brand new technical information to read practically made him shiver with delight. "Yes, yes, of course you're right," he said, knowing he was grinning like an idiot. "I'll read; get caught up. I'm sure to have questions. Yes."
> 
>   
> He moved blindly out of the room the way he had entered, lost in thought. Wormholes, stargates, and the things that Dr. Heightmeyer had tried to tell him all whirled around in his head. And _he_ was the pre-eminent expert in the field of Stargate technology? This was simply fantastic!
> 
>   
>  A small part of him whispered if it was so fantastic, then why had he forgotten all of it? It was then that he noticed he was being followed. He turned to face them, Flyboy, Track Star and Sheena.
> 
>   
> "Now what? Is there some reason that you feel compelled to follow me wherever I go? Look, Han" he said to the pilot, "why don't you take young Luke and Princess Leia here and go back to the Millennium Falcon? I can manage on my own."
> 
>   
> Inexplicably, the pilot laughed. "I guess that makes you C-3PO. A very cranky C-3PO."
> 
>   
> Track Star snorted and turned to Sheena. "Star Wars," he said by way of explanation.
> 
>   
> Sheena rolled her eyes. "I know, Aiden. I have only seen it three times now."
> 
>   
> "You didn't like Star Wars?" The pilot was astonished. "That's like a classic..."
> 
>   
> "I did not say I did not like it, only that I have seen it three times now..."
> 
>   
> "Hey! Siskel and Ebert! Mind taking your show on the road? Shoo." McKay made a sweeping away motion with his heavily bandaged left hand, still holding the laptop protectively against his body.
> 
>   
> For some reason, Flyboy seemed firmly in control of the situation. McKay wasn't entirely sure when he had lost control of it himself. "Do you even know where your quarters are?"
> 
>   
> "What? Well, no. Not really. No. But I'm sure I can find them." McKay was frowning impatiently.
> 
>   
> "I'll take you." The pilot sounded resigned and started off down the hall. "This way." He made a 'follow me' motion with his index finger over his shoulder as he moved off. McKay hesitated, but decided the sooner he went, the sooner he could settle down to his reading. Track Star started to follow as well, but Sheena caught him by the arm and gave him a little shake of the head. Ignoring them, McKay hurried to catch up.
> 
>   
> Entering his quarters he had the odd sense of the familiar but not familiar as well. The things present were certainly his, though overall the quantity of possessions seemed exceedingly sparse, even for him. The quarters were small by his standards, and he was used to living in apartments and base housing. He laid the laptop down on a nearby table and looked around, frowning.
> 
>   
> "Everything okay?" The pilot stood at the entranceway, obviously impatient to be off.
> 
>   
> McKay was oddly reluctant to shut the door, as though doing so would somehow trap him within the room. "I think so..." he said, not sounding sure at all. He wandered across the room where an alcove opened into a small bedroom area. He noticed that the lights turned on wherever he went.
> 
>   
> "Well, if you don't need me for anything else..." the pilot was saying as McKay entered the bathroom.
> 
>   
> "ACK!" He squawked as the lights came on.
> 
>   
> The pilot was at the door in a flash. "Rodney! What is it?"
> 
>   
> "What happened to my HAIR?" McKay was staring into the mirror in horror and then turned around to gape at the pilot. "I had hair this morning!"
> 
>   
> "Um, well, you actually looked the same this morning as you do now." The pilot had relaxed, and was now leaning negligently within the doorframe. "You've got plenty of hair. If it's any consolation, I don't really think you've changed...in appearance...that much since I've known you."
> 
>   
> McKay was assessing himself in the mirror once more. The man looking back at him was definitely an older and somehow harder version of himself. He wasn't sure that was such a good thing. Turning to face the pilot he rested a hip against the sink, folded his arms across his chest and asked, "And just how long _have_ you known me?"
> 
>   
>  The pilot shrugged. "About a year now."
> 
>   
> "Huh." There didn't seem to be anything to say to that. He went to stand upright again and winced, putting a thumb into his sore breastbone again.
> 
>   
> "What's that?" The pilot asked.
> 
>   
> "I don't know. My sternum hurts like hell, like somebody punched it."
> 
>   
> The pilot nodded. "Probably from when you were electrocuted. Ford started CPR until Beckett's people got there."
> 
>   
> Rubbing his chest painfully, McKay grumbled, "Well next time you see Lt. Track Star, tell him breathing is a whole lot easier when your ribs aren't broken. I'll probably end up with a huge bruise because of this."
> 
>   
> "He was probably a little rattled, you know." The pilot was frowning. He straightened from his leaning position, looking a little pissed. "He said you were blown straight across the room and he was pretty scared you were dead when he reached you. And his _name_ is Ford. You _could_ be a little more appreciative, you know. "
> 
>   
>  "Well, I already thanked Field once, what more do you want from me?" McKay was starting to feel a little claustrophobic standing in his bathroom with the doorway blocked by someone he sensed could be very dangerous when he chose to be.
> 
>   
> "Ford!"
> 
>   
> "Whatever."
> 
>   
> "Yeah, well just remember this, _Dr. McKay_." McKay winced at the emphasis again. The pilot grabbed the doorframe on either side and leaned in as he made his point. "Corpses don't _get_ bruises." He pushed off from the frame abruptly and turned to leave, stalking towards the door.
> 
>   
>  McKay followed him out into the main room. What was wrong with him for crying out loud? He couldn't seem to say two words to this fighter pilot guy without pissing him off. "Hey." He called out to the Major just as he was exiting the quarters. The man stopped, shoulders tight and angry for a moment, and then he took a deep breath and sighed. He turned around without a word, just a nasty 'now what?' expression on his face.
> 
>   
> "Um. Where does a guy go to get something to eat around here?"
> 
>   
> Apparently, it was the right thing to say. The pilot just dropped his head for a moment, shaking it, and then raised his hazel eyes to meet McKay's. He had the oddest expression on his face, like one of amused exasperation that was somehow still guarded. It gave McKay a little frisson of sensation that he could not interpret.
> 
>   
> The Major turned towards the door again. "This way. Come with me." He chucked a thumb over his shoulder.
> 
>   
> McKay's nightmares began that evening. At first they were brief intense vignettes that seemed to make an odd sense to him later, after he had bolted upright in bed, drenched in sweat with a pounding heart and a scream half-caught in his throat. In one, he was looking in the mirror and his face began to age at a horrific rate, jowls forming and sagging, hairline disappearing, teeth crumbling out of his mouth as he tried to speak. In another, he was running down the halls of the city, but they were dark and empty. He knew he was racing to reach something, to do something but there was someone or something waiting for him in the darkness, waiting to hurt him. The lack of specifics did not make it any less terrifying. He told himself they were only the natural results of finding out he had lost a good chunk of his life.
> 
>   
> He spent the next several days plunged deep into the theory of Gate travel and the design details of naquada reactors. He spent hours exchanging fast and furious emails with Radek Zelenka. Reading his own articles concerning the Stargate program set his teeth on edge. Half the time he was well into an article, thinking what a jerk the author was until he realized that _he_ was the author. He only came up for air when hunger drove him out of his quarters. He went twice to the infirmary for bandage changes to his left hand; eventually those came off as well. He began to sleep less and less for fear of the nightmares, which seemed to be growing more complex.
> 
>   
>  When the door chime startled him out of a puddle of drool where he had dozed off on the floor, he wiped his face with the end of his shirt and called out 'enter'—only to have Sheena come into his room, bearing a covered dish.
> 
>   
> Somehow he knew beyond all certainty that she had never been in his room before. Surprised, he jumped up and stood there stupidly as he tried to remember her real name. "I thought you might be hungry." She smiled at him, setting the dish on the table beside the laptop, but making no attempt to uncover it. "No one saw you at dinner."
> 
>   
> "I..er..what time it is?" He ran a hand through his hair before realizing he was wearing a watch.
> 
>   
> She just smiled serenely at him. "Late." She was amazingly succinct for a woman. "Enjoy your meal, and get some rest. Try not to worry too much...things will work out the way they are supposed to." She turned back for the door.
> 
>   
> "Wait! Um—ah..." In defeat, he skipped the name. "Look, why do you guys care what happens to me?"
> 
>   
> She simply stood and looked at him, a graceful arch to her back as she paused in her turn back towards the door. He felt obligated to continue. "Every time I turn around, one of you is hovering about. If not you, then Ford or whatshisname, the fighter pilot guy. It's not that I don't appreciate it or anything," he waved his hands in the general direction of the food, "but I don't _get_ it."
> 
>   
>  Her smile seemed infinitely sad. She spoke quietly. "I know nothing of your existence before the time we met. I do know that you are highly respected for your knowledge and abilities here and among your former colleagues. To us though, you are more than just a brilliant man to call upon when one needs a solution to a crisis. You are one of us; you are our friend. We miss you and we want you back." She smiled over her shoulder as she exited.
> 
>   
> Teyla. Her name is Teyla, he thought.
> 
>   
> Hours later, sleep eluded him again and he went out in search of food. Not that the dish that Teyla had brought him hadn't been nourishing or filling but it was not particularly satisfying. He felt the urge for something sweet. Or salty. Or both. He headed in the direction of the mess hall, thinking surely there would be some food of some kind available. His experience with the USAF was that the military always had food ready 24/7. He wasn't sure what he would find though; he was constantly being surprised by the lack of food items here that he considered staples.
> 
>   
> He hadn't traveled very far down the corridor when he was unpleasantly reminded of the recurring dream he had come to think of as the 'hallway' one, where he was searching and running and being chased. It was very late at night now; the lighting had been reduced accordingly. Feeling a little creeped out, he straggled to a halt, noting that his respiratory rate was starting to rise. Really, he wasn't _that_ hungry. He opted to step out onto one of the balconies instead of going any further.
> 
>   
>  Stretching the tension out of his shoulders as he went outside, he appreciatively drew in a deep breath of the salt air. He walked over to the balcony railing, using his right hand to dig into his left shoulder where the muscle burned from too many hours crouched at a keyboard. Sighing, he leaned on the railing and looked up into the night sky.
> 
>   
> "Oh _shit_!" He exclaimed. He craned his head backwards to stare up into the sky.
> 
>   
>  "Rodney?" A voice came from out of the shadows of a column and McKay yelped and clutched his chest.
> 
>   
> Flyboy stepped out of the darkness and into the light streaming out onto the balcony from inside the corridor.
> 
>   
> "Are you _trying_ to kill me?" McKay yelled. He bent over with his hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. "Jesus, talk about giving someone a heart attack!" He stood up and glared at the pilot. "What the hell are you doing out here anyway? Besides performing unauthorized stress tests on unsuspecting scientists?"
> 
>   
>  "Couldn't sleep." Was the laconic reply. "Carson will be glad to know you passed."
> 
>   
> "Don't you have your own balcony somewhere?" As soon as he said it, he knew he was sounding stupid and childish.
> 
>   
> "I like the view from here." It seemed like a loaded sentence, but before McKay could ponder that too deeply, he went on. "Why 'oh shit'?"
> 
>   
> McKay slumped, turning back to the rail as he looked up into the sky. "The stars...nothing is familiar. Nothing is where it is supposed to be."
> 
>   
> The pilot came up beside him on the rail. He scanned the night sky for a moment, then pointed. "That cluster there. That's where we used to be. Or at least, so you told me."
> 
>   
> McKay took a shaky breath. "But we're in the Pegasus galaxy now."
> 
>   
> The pilot did not look at him but continued to stare up into the night sky, leaning on his hands at the rail. "Yep."
> 
>   
> "In the 'Lost City' of Atlantis? You know, that was the hardest part of the whole thing for me to swallow."
> 
>   
> He heard a chuckle. "Yeah, I took that one with a grain of salt too, until we actually walked through the Gate and saw it for the first time." McKay tried to imagine what that must have been like and failed.
> 
>   
> "You want me to call Heightmeyer?"
> 
>   
> "Why, so she can smirk 'I told you so' at me, no thanks." McKay paused. "There is one thing you can do for me though."
> 
>   
> No hesitation. "Name it."
> 
>   
> McKay turned from the rail to face him, causing him to do the same. "I need to see the mission reports."
> 
>   
> He had to hand it to the fighter pilot guy. Not only did he unquestioningly get him the information he requested (without trying to talk him out of it) but after disappearing for a period of time, showed up again at McKay's quarters bearing pizza and beer.
> 
>   
> "Where did you get that?" McKay asked suspiciously.
> 
>   
> Flyboy simply looked enigmatic and said, "I have my ways." He glanced around the room where computer printouts now papered the floor. "New look in home d馗or? I like it."
> 
>   
> McKay sighed and stepped back, letting him in. "I can't sit at the laptop anymore. I wanted to actually hold the reports in my hands." It occurred to him that he probably should ask the pilot...Major John Sheppard, the reports had said...what he was doing here, but instead he picked up several new reports and continued his reading. When the Major set the pizza down on the table, he reached over and snagged a slice wordlessly as he continued to read.
> 
>   
> The tersely worded documents were simply mind-blowing. He guessed that there was as much unsaid as said. He discovered that Teyla, who was apparently a kick-ass fighter, he knew that, had lost everything with their arrival in the Pegasus galaxy and still she had joined forces with them. Ford was the guy you wanted covering your back in a crunch—and you could count on him to do so. And the Major...for someone that was supposed to be just some chopper pilot, he was a scary tactician—what the hell had he been doing buried in Antarctica for nearly a year? As for himself, frankly at times he had been positively brilliant and he was surprised at some of the things he supposedly had done in the course of these missions. He had a sneaking suspicion that it was being part of a team that made the difference; that forced him to come up with solutions that might not otherwise have occurred to him. He had the odd sense of having seen those dynamics in play somewhere else in another situation, and having not understood them at that time.
> 
>   
> It was some time later when he looked up and found the Major's eyes upon him, as he was taking a long pull from his bottle of beer. McKay went to pick up his own bottle, found it empty and opened another. His hands were shaking slightly as he lifted the bottle to his mouth. "These Wraith." He said when he had swallowed. "They're pretty bad guys, eh?"
> 
>   
> The Major snorted and then smiled. "That's an understatement. And you sounded really Canadian just then, you don't always."
> 
>   
> McKay found himself smiling back. "Too much time with you Yanks." He felt the smile drain away as he thought of some of the reports. "They'll come for us."
> 
>   
> "Yes." At least the Major had done him the honor of not trying to soft-coat the answer.
> 
>   
> "Reading doesn't make me remember it." He sighed. "In fact, it makes me realize why someone might want to forget it all." The words 'Brendan Gall' appeared before his eyes as they had in the mission report and he decided then and there he would look up Gall's files before the day was out and know what he looked like. And Abrams. And... He would have to make a list.
> 
>   
> The Major suddenly gave him a quirky little grin. "I don't suppose you would care to hear from the 'Sheppard School of Philosophy'?"
> 
>   
> "Oh please, Major." McKay's voice was ultra-sarcastic, "Enlighten me."
> 
>   
> "Well, it's like this, McKay. You pay the rent you can afford to pay."
> 
>   
> "What? What kind of nonsense is that? The Oracle at Delphi was more illuminating than that! Hell, Ambassador Kosh made more sense."
> 
>   
> The Major just grinned again and then leaned forward and tapped the table top with an index finger. "I'm serious. Every decision you make in this world boils down to just that—how much is it going to cost you? Too much, then you don't buy the house; you rent something smaller instead. You think you can afford it? You go for the whole Taj Mahal." He leaned back in his chair again.
> 
>   
> "That is the _stupidest_ life philosophy I have ever heard. No wonder you ended up on a one way trip to the Pegasus galaxy where ghoulish vampires are just a step away from sucking out your life's energy." He gave a shudder. "Eeyew. I can't believe I said that. I am getting idiotic from lack of sleep."
> 
>   
>  The Major stood up in an economical movement that somehow caught McKay's eye with its grace. "Your memories are there, it is just a matter of you weighing the cost of having them." He pointed the neck of his beer bottle in McKay's direction. "You just wait--you'll see that I'm right."
> 
>   
> It wasn't until he had left that McKay realized that he had stayed until every last report had been read.
> 
>   
> That night he dreamt the hallway dream again, only this time, the hallways were inside a Wraith ship and as he ran through them, he became more and more entangled in a cottony webbing of cocoon-like material. All around him he could hear the murmurings of Wraith in their hive. He finally found the room that he had been searching for and knew it contained the very thing he had been looking desperately for all along but when he entered the room, he only found a mummy-like cocoon within. Tearing at the wrappings, he tried to peel back the coverings to see the face, but the body in his arms began to draw in on itself and disintegrated into dust before him. He awoke with a strangled sob and staggered into the bathroom, vomiting violently into the toilet. He lay there coiled around the toilet until he got so cold he couldn't stand it any longer. Shivering, he dragged himself to his feet, wiped his face with a damp washcloth and crawled back into bed. He had never felt so alone in his whole life. That didn't make any sense—he had always been alone, he had always _chosen_ to be alone. For the first time he could recall though, he didn't want to be and worse, he had some vague sense he didn't have to be any longer.
> 
>   
>  The next morning he looked into the mirror and decided that he did indeed look just like a guy who had stayed up half the night reading horror stories and sweating in terror while puking in the toilet. Thank God for hot showers, Visine and mouthwash.
> 
>   
> He entered the lab an hour later, briskly rubbing his hands and diving into the day's work. He was all caught up now, thank you very much. Time to get back to the task at hand. He and Radek were arguing about the best way to solve a particular programming issue when McKay realized that the Major had entered the lab. He found himself perversely annoyed that he was pleased to see the Major.
> 
>   
> "You guys gonna stop for lunch?" He seemed a little more relaxed than McKay remembered from previous encounters.
> 
>   
> "No," said McKay at the same time Radek said, "Yes."
> 
>   
> "I'm not hungry and we need to get this done." McKay snapped, glowering at Zelenka.
> 
>   
> He merely gave a Slavik shrug and said, "Have it your way, but I don't think it will work."
> 
>   
> "Fine. You go eat then, since hypoglycemia is obviously affecting your thinking and I will go get the circuit panel and show you exactly what I mean." He stood up and prepared to march out of the lab.
> 
>   
> "Whoa, wait a minute." McKay turned his head at the Major's drawl. "You're not hungry? You're always hungry. And stop me if I'm wrong, but isn't this how you got electrocuted a few days ago?"
> 
>   
> "I never got to correct the problem I supposedly went down there to fix in the first place--I just found out that _no one_ has fixed it."
> 
>   
>  "Right. Let Radek have some food for pity's sake and I'll ride shotgun. Lead the way then."
> 
>   
> McKay shot him a look; he realized that though the Major wasn't sporting heavy weaponry, he was wearing a sidearm as well as the standard radio earpiece. McKay stopped long enough to put on his own earpiece and stalked out the door.
> 
>   
> They were largely silent during the trip to the area where McKay had been injured just a few days before. Except, that is, for the part where they had to argue about the best way to get here from the labs. The Major was sure he knew a short-cut and McKay didn't have time for any 'short-cuts'. When challenged as to whether he could actually remember having been led astray by one of the Major's short-cuts, McKay assured him that remembrance was unnecessary as he was sure to be wrong about the direction anyway.
> 
>   
> "Slow down. There's no need to hurry." The Major warned him as he entered the room in question, marching up to the open panel without hesitation. The room was gloomy today, the sun having gone behind clouds. It was also dank and cold, the odor of fish and rot still permeated the air.
> 
>   
> "What a mess." McKay muttered to himself. There were blackened areas along the side of the housing, and pieces of wiring melted completely together. "I have no choice but to pull the whole thing and..." he was in the act of removing the circuit panel when the lights flickered and suddenly went out, plunging the room into semi-darkness. The door to the room sealed shut. "What just happened?" He felt a flutter of panic in his chest.
> 
>   
> "I think it's called a power outage." The Major's tone was dry. He went over to the door and tried to open it, but it refused to budge.
> 
>   
> "Spare me your observations of the obvious. What _caused_ it?"
> 
>   
>  "You pulled that panel out...try putting it back in."
> 
>   
> "This isn't some computer that you can just reboot by turning it off and on again, Major. Beside, this panel isn't even active." McKay tried replacing the panel in question, but nothing happened. "See? Now what?"
> 
>   
> "Well, they did issue us these neat little radio thingies..." Damnit, why was he looking so smug? McKay pressed the button on his unit. "Radek. This is McKay. We've got a loss of power down here and we're locked in one of the labs. What's going on?"
> 
>   
> "You're not the only ones without power. Looks like a grid is down. We're re-routing power as best we can now. So much for lunch. I have no idea how long this will take. Hope you brought some food; you might be stuck a while."
> 
>   
> "Radek!" McKay yelled into the radio. "That's completely unacceptable! If you can't get the power back up, then you get someone down here with a torch and you _cut this door open_. NOW."
> 
>   
>  "Sorry, Rodney." Radek sounded like he was trying not to giggle. "We have different priorities at the moment. We'll get to you as soon as we can. Um, I'm sorry, your signal seems to be breaking up..."
> 
>   
> "Radek!" McKay had deep, dark suspicions about the loss of the radio signal, but it remained stubbornly silent during further attempts to raise Zelenka again.
> 
>   
> "Maybe you should've paid your phone bill." The Major suggested. He hefted himself up onto the counter of a nearby table and sat watching McKay stalk around the room.
> 
>   
> "I fail to see what is so amusing about this situation. Who knows how long we'll be trapped here. The place is partially open to the elements—if there is a storm, at best it will be unpleasant; at worst we could drown. We have no food, we have no water, no idea why the power went out..."
> 
>   
> "Sometimes a power failure is just a power failure." The Major fished a power bar out of the pocket of his jacket and tossed it to McKay, who managed to catch it. "Don't read more into this than it is, Robbie."
> 
>   
> "Did you just call me 'ROBBIE'?" He could hear the incredulity clanging like a siren in his voice.
> 
>   
> The Major gave him a grin. "Yeah, as in 'Robbie the Robot'. You know." He pulled his arms in tight to his body and rotated them in spastic circles from the elbows only. "Warning! Danger, Will Robinson!" He relaxed his arms and snorted. "That's you." He looked at McKay with malicious glee.
> 
>   
> McKay began to sputter, felt his mouth open with outraged disbelief and then surprised himself by bursting into laughter. He backed onto a nearby stool and sat down. "That's good. Tell me, Major. Do you come up with these neat little barbs off the top of your head or do you think them up in advance?"
> 
>   
> "Both. I've been saving that one for a while. Most of the time you're right—we usually _are_ in danger."
> 
>   
>  "Hah. I hope you listen to me then."
> 
>   
> "Most of the time. Okay, some of the time."
> 
>   
> A breeze fluttered the tattered remains of some wall hangings, bringing with it the smell of rain in the air. The clouds outside parted at that moment, sending a great shaft of sunlight beaming into the darkened room from above their heads. It caught the surface of the wall behind them and reflected back a bluish light. Something in the image before McKay made his breath catch, a memory just out of reach.
> 
>   
> He looked over at the Major, who had leaned back on his palms to look up at the lighted window. The sunlight caught him in silhouette and suddenly McKay knew the identity of covered face in his dream. He felt his breath seize in this chest, and he gulped air as a result. But the next inhalation didn't come any easier and he sucked in another short, gasping breath. He pulled at his collar and the power bar dropped out of his hand to the floor.
> 
>   
> John vaulted off the table and was at his side a breath later, rapidly assessing his condition, hammering him with questions as his fingers checked his pulse, checked the temperature of his forehead, loosened his jacket and the zippered collar at his neck. "Rodney, what is it? Are you ill? Allergic reaction? Damnit, where's your epi-pen?"
> 
>   
> Rodney grabbed at his arms, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirtsleeves. "No..." he managed to gasp out. "Not that. Okay now. Just...just..."
> 
>   
> John was supporting his shoulders and he dropped down slightly to look him in the eye. "You've remembered something, haven't you?"
> 
>   
> "Everything." Rodney said with heavy emphasis. He took in a deep dragging breath. "All at once. It was sort of overwhelming. I...I think I've got a handle on it now."
> 
>   
> "Okay." John supported him for a fraction of a moment longer and then withdrew to lean on the edge of the table. Rodney was reminded of the way he felt that night in the infirmary all over again—the sudden withdrawal of warmth and the sense of loss.
> 
>   
> There was a long pause as Rodney took some slow and deep breaths to try and steady his respiratory rate.
> 
>   
> "Everything?" The quietness of John's voice made Rodney look up. He was staring back at him, one eyebrow raised. Rodney could feel the unspoken question.
> 
>   
> "Yes, everything." Rodney agreed. The silence stretched out thinly, like a wire pulled beyond its tensile strength.
> 
>   
> "Then why did you send me away?" He folded his arms across his chest, looking suddenly defensive.
> 
>   
> Rodney jumped off the stool as though he had suddenly discovered he had been sitting on burning coals. "I...I don't know. I didn't know what to think. I didn't know what you wanted from me. I had _head trauma_ , for crying out loud." He paused, then added quietly, "Why did you go?"
> 
>   
> "Because you _told_ me to go." John's arms uncrossed and he threw his hands sharply, palms up, in the air for emphasis. "You were acting as though I just killed your cat. What was I supposed to think? And then this amnesia thing came up, which seemed to include you being particularly rude to me specifically and telling me that we weren't even _friends_..."
> 
>   
>  "Hel-lo, _amnesia_!" Rodney shouted. "What part of 'amnesia' did you not understand?"
> 
>   
>  "Well what part of what happened between us in that cave did _you_ not understand?" John fired back angrily.
> 
>   
>  "AM-NE-SIA! I didn't _remember_ anything about the cave when I said we weren't friends!"
> 
>   
>  John's anger was suddenly deflated, his tone shifted back to quiet. "But you remember now, don't you?"
> 
>   
> "Well, yes." John's eyes held an expectant expression. "I don't know! I'm not very good at these things." Rodney finally continued helplessly. "I thought it might have been one of those 'thank god we're both still alive' moments..."
> 
>   
> "You thought it was _what_?" John was incredulous.
> 
>   
>  "You know." Rodney fumbled for an explanation. "You hear stories...about people and adrenaline and..." he trailed off inadequately.
> 
>   
> "And you thought _that_ was what had happened between us?" John crossed the distance between them in two furious strides, grabbing Rodney by the shirt collar and slamming his mouth down so hard on his own, that Rodney tasted his own blood. As John pushed him backwards against the table he opened his mouth to protest (that _hurt_!) but in doing so seemed to inhale John. He invaded Rodney's mouth, tongue seeking, thrusting, consuming him. Rodney felt something surge up within him in response. John tasted of coffee and sound-breaking velocities; of risk and something dark and hungry that was essentially John. Rather than fight, he wanted to grab John by his marvelous hair and pull him further down into the kiss. But just as abruptly as it started, John pulled away and pushed him back, hard. " _That_ is a 'thank god we're both still alive'...thing!" John ground out, striking the air in Rodney's direction repeatedly for emphasis. "What happened in the cave was..."
> 
>   
>  His thought was cut off as the lights flickered on for a second and died. They eyed each other warily, breathing raggedly, more like two fighting cats than friends or lovers.
> 
>   
> "Really." Rodney touched his upper lip gingerly; it was starting to swell. "Well apparently I have a lot to learn because from where I was standing, that felt very much like an 'I want you so badly I could die'... _thing_." He sarcastically mimicked John's inability to put into words what had just occurred. They were still close enough to each other that Rodney could see John's eyes dilate.
> 
>   
>  The power came back on completely and stayed on this time. A moment later, the door behind them opened. John abruptly slammed past Radek as he entered the room. Radek's eyes followed him out, but he turned to Rodney and said cheerfully, "Power's back."
> 
>   
> Rodney still stood in a daze in the center of the room.
> 
>   
> "The Major popped you one, didn't he?" Rodney heard Radek say behind him.
> 
>   
> " _Excuse me_?" He turned to Radek, mouth open in shock.
> 
>   
>  "You have a fat lip. He punched you, didn't he? Only a matter of time, we all knew it."
> 
>   
> "Ah...um..." There was no way of answering the question without making the situation worse in some way. "Uh, do me a favor. Don't say anything, okay? I probably deserved it."
> 
>   
> "Sorry, Rodney." Radek grinned. "But I had a bet with Carson that he'd finally hit you one day."
> 
>   
> He had no choice now. He couldn't leave things as they were. He didn't _want_ to leave things as they were. Still, it was quite some time before he could get away to seek out John. Things were made more difficult by not wanting to overtly appear that he was seeking him out. He looked in all the usual places first before making his way down to John's quarters.
> 
> "Open the door." He rang the chime repeatedly and stood leaning his head on the closed door. "We're not done talking." He thought briefly of overriding the lock mechanism and as strongly as he felt right now, he really believed he _could_ override even John, but he clamped down on the thought before the door could respond to it. He could not just force his way in - John was going to have to let him in voluntarily. Just when he thought the door was not going to open in his lifetime, it did and he almost tumbled into the room.
> 
>   
>  "What?" John's distinctly unwelcoming voice came from within. Rodney entered diffidently, not sure what he would find. John was standing near the end of his bed, arms folded as he watched Rodney. His quarters were even smaller than Rodney's, with few personal objects in sight. Someone who travels light and leaves little behind. All of his effects could easily be packed in a small box ... for shipment home. Not for the first time, that thought made his blood run cold. John was looking at him with the eyes of an adversary. As the door shut behind him, Rodney felt as though he had thoughtlessly cornered a predator in his den. He had to be very careful how he proceeded now. Unconsciously, he touched his upper lip.
> 
>   
> "Okay." He took a deep breath. "It appears that we have clarified the definition of a 'thank god we're both still alive' thing ..." he paused uncertainly. He had come here with a purpose and this was his moment of truth. He felt the color rising in his face and continued on gamely. "You never said ... I mean, after you ... but then when we got back you just ... that is to say ... aw hell. John, I _need_ you to tell me just what you meant by kissing me back in the cave like that?" He was scowling and he knew it, but couldn't help it.
> 
>   
>  John made a small noise of frustration and mimed strangling something mid-air in front of him before running both hands through his hair and moving restlessly in the small space beside his bed. "I meant ..." he started off strong but stopped abruptly as if translating thoughts into words were some physical barrier he had just run full force into. He focused intently on the floor and continued on very slowly and far more quietly, "I wanted to say ... to _show_ you ... damnit, it was an 'I care about you' thing."
> 
>   
>  Rodney felt a flicker of amusement. He knew John wasn't any good at expressing his feelings but he never dreamed that _he_ would ever actually be the object of those feelings. That he was obviously no better at this made the entire conversation sound almost comedic. But it was just that very uncertainty of speech, even more than the words themselves, that gave him a glimmer of hope. He told himself to speak slowly now, to try and measure his words for once instead of pelting them out with the force and accuracy of a hail of bullets. "I think...um, I think that may have been exactly what scared the hell out of me."
> 
>   
>  John became very still, steadfastly refusing to meet Rodney's eyes despite Rodney's best effort to force his attention back upward. Undaunted, Rodney hurried on. "You see, I was just discovering that I felt pretty much the same way about _you_. But then the certainty of knowing I would be attending your funeral some day ... I couldn't deal with... the cost... of what that would do to me."
> 
>   
>  John finally tore his attention from the floor, raising an eyebrow as Rodney trailed off. "So all of this repression amnesia stuff has been about the fact that you're afraid I'm going to die doing my job?"
> 
>   
> It sounded almost silly when put in those words but still, Rodney felt a chill as what had at some point become his worst nightmare was laid out so clinically. He had no words with which to respond, it was all he could do to just nod his head.
> 
>   
> John shook his head slowly, coming around to the foot of the bed and seating himself on it. He rested his elbows on his knees and again looked down at the floor. "I don't know how to break this to you, Rodney..."
> 
>   
> Alarm broke him from his trance and brought him further into the room. "Break what to me?" His voice rose in pitch; he hated that.
> 
>   
> "Well..." John flashed a look up at him through the fringe of his hair and that mischievous smile was back in place. "Chances are anything that kills me is going to kill you too."
> 
>   
> Rodney felt his mouth open and close repeatedly several times before he finally said, "Omigod, you're right."
> 
>   
> John began to laugh. "Yeah, I mean think about it. We've got Wraith darts trying to harvest us for dinner in the Pegasus version of a drive-thru..."
> 
>   
> "Angry villagers attacking us with spears."
> 
>   
> "Atlantis facing invasion by hostile forces."
> 
>   
> "Or threatened by violent acts of nature."
> 
>   
> "Or wait—you'll stay back in the control room yelling, 'just give me one more minute—I can fix this!'"
> 
> "What about you? Major 'The odds are only 100:1; I'll be fine'?"
> 
> "Stop it!" John wheezed helplessly. He fell over backwards on the bed, clutching his ribcage. "That hurts."
> 
> Rodney came over to the foot of the bed and seated himself on the edge. It felt good to see John really laugh again. There had been so much tension between them lately, he prayed he was not about to make it worse. He folded his right leg in front of him on the mattress so he could face John. He idly traced geometric patterns on the bedspread with one hand. "We're pretty pathetic, you know."
> 
>   
> John remained focused on the ceiling but Rodney could see the smile forming on his lips. "Yep."
> 
>   
> "Just so you know..." Rodney stopped tracing the designs. _Say it now or forget about it forever, McKay_. With a rueful little smile, he irrevocably determined a new course of action and reached out tentatively to rest his hand over John's before he continued. "I'm a 30 year mortgage kind of guy myself." John froze in mid breath but Rodney waited patiently through the moments while the man who was already the best friend he ever had processed both words and action.
> 
>   
>  John stared at him incomprehensibly for a moment, and then his brow cleared. Shifting his glance to the hand resting over his, he turned his wrist over to entwine Rodney's fingers with his own. Rodney felt the warmth of the connection creep up his arm and spread throughout his body. After a long moment, John rolled himself up on one elbow, gingerly supporting his ribs as he eased himself into a sitting position. He hesitated a moment more before he pulled Rodney close, enfolding his arms around him and releasing a sigh that didn't even pretend to conceal how much he wanted this or how afraid he was of having it. "You sure you can afford that?" Rodney could feel the warmth of John's breath against his skin and he wasn't completely certain that John's voice didn't break slightly as he spoke. "I hear it can get pretty expensive."
> 
>   
> Rodney looked up into eyes that mirrored both his own uncertainty as well as his resolve to not let this slip away. He was aware of only a fleeting soreness in his cut lip as John leaned in to brush a very gentle kiss across his mouth. More of a breath, it was a kiss even lighter than the one he had placed on Rodney's forehead in the cave - chaste when compared to the raw and brutal need of earlier in the day. A part of him wondered how there could have been so much confusion and anxiety before when this felt so clearly right.
> 
>   
> He pulled back slightly to look again at those beautiful hazel eyes and saw an answering light that made him catch his breath. For the first time in his life, Rodney felt like he was finally on solid ground. He reached out and gently touched the side of John's face, thumb brushing the line of his cheekbone. "All the best things in life are expensive," he said. "It will be worth it."
> 
> ~fin~
> 
>   
> 


End file.
